Thwarted expectations
by MaryJane C
Summary: Sent to interview billionaire Edward Cullen, Bella has a very predictable reaction to the man. The only problem is that everyone around her behaves and reacts as normal people would. Will Bella succeed in making Edward see things her way or will the outcome of her adventure be more than a bit ironic? Heavy influences from the infamous fanfic-cum-published-work, 50 shades of grey.


I decided at some point that I would love to experience an all consuming, unhealthy type of love. Even though I had zero experience with relationships and even less with any sort of romance, I was very certain that the only relationship for me was a co-dependent one. Of course, I also had incredibly high standards. But don't be mistaken, I'm not referring –god forbid- to anything having to do with personality, morals, life perspective or integrity; I'm talking about aesthetics, of course, and financials –don't forget those. I realized that very little a man might do would seem unappealing if it had the cushion of luxury to blunt the shock and outrage I ought to feel.

So here I was, a student working toward her BA in literature, trying to determine the future course of her life, but not really thinking about it in a serious, mature way. I was confident enough in my abilities, which are never all that apparent that I knew I would surely obtain a lucrative job at one or other of the best publishing houses in the country. Of course, it goes without saying that I am woefully unappealing and plain and that my unremarkable looks, coupled with my clumsiness and lack of social skills and of appropriate social responses, make me a rather sad kind of individual. But don't despair on my behalf for, you see, I'm only plain and drab by my impossibly high standards which, we've established, are entirely formed and oriented by my shallow obsession with physical perfection and financial luxury. Objectively –just this once, mind you- I'm of a medium height and posses a slender, well proportioned figure; I have brown hair and brown eyes and overall delicate features. But throughout the story I shall refer to my perceived physical imperfections in such a way as to give you to understand that I'm actually quite pretty and only my excessive self-criticism causes me to describe myself in unflattering terms. I mean, how else –besides my awesome uniqueness and snowflake-ness- would I attract the interest and life-long affection of a cold emotionally repressed billionaire? But I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, simply now that I'm a student in her early twenties who harbors latent homosexual feelings for her gorgeous goddess-y roommate. She is rather sick and seems to be doing absolutely awful but all I can think about is how hot she is even when she's burning with a fever and dripping from just about every orifice. So I do her a favor, because she's asking nicely and is just a little bit desperate. Little did I know how my decision would forever change the course of my life. *Shameless foreshadowing*

"Please, Bella", she pleads with me while blinking rapidly and blushing prettily in her sexy pj's. "I have to submit this interview, but I'm in no state to go anywhere." Rosalie's desperation is causing her the sort of agitation that makes her look like a heroine from a romance novel. Her luscious golden hair is piled atop her head and wispy tendrils have escaped the messy bun to frame her classically beautiful face. The sheen of sweat on her chest and arms gives her and otherworldly glow and the disarrayed blankets on her bed make it seem as if she just had sex. For a second I feel the urge to ravish her. But I shake myself and agree to help her with the assignment. She offers, of course, to lend me some of her clothes so that I'll be properly attired for the interview and thus feel less self conscious, but I insist I wear my only skirt and jacket. I'm independent like that. When I'm not ridiculously wardrobe-challenged, I wear converse, skinny jeans and plaid shirts. Even though I share an apartment with a beauty goddess who does not consider it a feminist betrayal to wear make-up, I don't have the vaguest clue about how to apply it. The fact that I have a flawless complexion, which I'll mention in a faux-backhanded kind of way, is just the icing on the cake. My eyebrows are perfectly arched and my lips are full and plum. I don't really have any physical flaws, but I will continuously describe myself in such a manner as to imply that I do. Usually, that is the cue for other characters to tell me I don't even realize how beautiful and attractive I am. When it comes from the lips of my emotionally distant billionaire take two shots.

The person I'm supposed to interview is one Edward Cullen. I've never heard of him but I'm inexplicably nervous about meeting him. He seems mysterious and enigmatic to me even though I've only just heard about him. So I get myself ready and set forth in my quaint red truck. I arrive at the office building and I'm instantly impressed with its architecture. It's so… phallic. I enter the predominantly steel and glass structure and head straight for reception. Instantly, I feel as if I don't belong and everyone knows it, even though I do not stand out in any way, shape or form from the other twenty year olds going about their business while wearing the same type of outfit as me. At the reception, an impeccably attired and coiffed woman asks me with whom I have an appointment. I nervously stutter out that I'm there to interview Mr. Cullen. She gives me a visitor ID and directions on how to find his office. I'm so self involved that I'm immediately convinced she doesn't like me even though we've only had a few minutes' worth of conversation. I trip on my way to the elevator and feel mortified. I reach the right floor and introduce myself to a lovely young woman behind a glass and steel desk. My arrival is announced through the telephone and I am made to wait by the impeccable looking secretary. Even though I have no reason to be intimated by the prospect of meeting and talking to this Edward Cullen, I fidget and bite my lip until I'm sure my skirt is wrinkled and my lips are red and swollen. The former is embarrassing, the latter is sure to make me look more attractive.

"You may go in," the gorgeous young woman tells me. I'm startled out of my shallow musings and make my way toward the office. As I open the door, I trip on my own feet and land face first in the room. I am, again, mortified. But this time, I feel two strong hands on my back and, suddenly, I'm facing upwards and into the green, glorious eyes of an angel.

"Are you alright?" he asks with seeming worry in his expressive eyes. The angel speaks to me but all I can do is gaze at his unearthly features and wonder that such a creature could exist. He helps me in a sitting position and looks me over. "I think you chipped a tooth," he tells me. Somehow, that's not what I expect to hear from his perfectly formed lips. "Your gums are bleeding," he continues. I'm stunned by this revelation. I feel nothing but the most exquisite adoration for this Adonis who seems so preoccupied with my wellbeing. I smile to let him know that his care has not gone unnoticed, that his devotion is more than appreciated, it's welcomed wholeheartedly. His perfect features form into a grimace. "Let's get you off the floor," he says and I could just squeal at what will surely follow next. He will lift me in his strong arms and deposit me on the black leather couch I know he must have in the office and, before letting me go, he will linger mere inches from my face as if he wished he could take more but could not allow himself. "Sarah," he addresses the modelesque secretary who is still visible through the door I never actually closed while falling, "help me get Miss…" and he looks at me as if he doesn't know who I am. The pain that pierces me is unbearable and my eyes immediately fill with unshed tears. "Swan," Sarah supplants indifferently. He looks at me in a seemingly perplexed way. "Help me get Miss Swan in a chair." She comes over, in her black pencil skirt, her silk dove grey shirt and her black pumps, and leans over me with her hands outstretched. I reluctantly grab on and get myself standing as the angel supports my back. I feel suddenly dizzy and they both carry my weight as they guide me toward a comfy looking leather armchair. His body burns next to mine with the electricity of our sexual tension. I can feel him tense with each step as he forces himself not to act on his baser urges. They deposit me in a chair and I'm ready for him to dismiss this hussy who is clearly eyeing in an unprofessional manner. I hear him speak and I'm ready for my feminine triumph over her.

"Please get her a towel and some water. I'll call for the doctor. She might have a concussion." The angel leaves my side and I suddenly feel so bereft that I hug myself. There's a whole in my chest. Sarah returns with the required items and I realized I did not even realize when she left me. I'm not very observant. She hands me a moist towel and I'm not sure what to do with it. She looks at me when I do not take it and says "For the blood."My face scrunches up in a frown and I remain silent. She feigns worry and looks at my angel. She must have noticed how he cares for me and thinks she can sway him toward her if she's nice to me. That bitch. In the background, I can hear my savior talking on the phone and I strain to hear what he's saying. Surely, he is sick with worry for me.


End file.
